Chapter 47: The Aftermath
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 47: The Aftermath
The Great Hall was buzzing with a mixture of excitement and panic the next morning.
Harry was sitting in his usual spot at the Slytherin table. His plate remained untouched while his eyes scanned the Great Hall from side to side.
Everywhere he looked, students were huddled in groups, whispering behind their hands. An urgent hum of speculations and gossip had replaced the usual morning chatter.
He had not been able to sleep one bit and had been staring at the door of his bedroom for most of the night...expecting some professor to barge in at any moment and drag him away so he would pay for his crimes.
But in the end...nothing happened. No one came to demand punishment...yet.
His roommates woke up and began to get dressed. Then Harry was called by Draco and Crabbe to hurry up so they would not arrive late at breakfast.
It wasn't until they went into the common room that the rumors about last night started to reach their ears.
Apparently, the Slytherin Prefects had been called as well to patrol the hallways in search of the one responsible, and they had much to tell about what took place in the third-floor corridor.
When they got to the hall, it was even worse. It seemed like information was running wild as usual in Hogwarts, and before the food even appeared on their plates, the entire school had learned about the incident.
And the third-floor corridor, which was burned down to a crisp, was not the only incident on the minds of the students.
Draco sat beside him, his brow furrowed as he read the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. The newspaper had arrived via owl just minutes ago, and Draco had snatched it before anyone else could get a look.
"Well...what does it say?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Draco's grey eyes scanned the front page. "It's about the attack from last night at the Ministry. They're saying it was the Knights of Walpurgis." He paused, his expression darkening. "The old terrorist group that followed the Dark Lord."
Harry leaned over, trying to read over Draco's shoulder. A large, dramatic headline dominated the front page:
"MINISTRY UNDER SIEGE: KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS STRIKE AGAIN"
Below it was a photograph of the Ministry's entrance hall, its marble floors cracked and charred. Aurors in dark robes swarmed the scene, their faces looking grim. The article went on to describe the attack in vague, sensational terms:
"The Ministry of Magic was rocked by a brazen attack last night, carried out by the terrorist organisation known as the Knights of Walpurgis. The attack, which targeted the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, resulted in multiple injuries and the escape of several high‑risk prisoners. No arrests have been made, and the Ministry has declined to comment on the identity of the attackers. The Knights of Walpurgis, believed to have been disbanded after the fall of the Dark Lord, have apparently re‑emerged with renewed strength and purpose. Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, has called for calm, but the wizarding world remains on edge."
Harry read the article twice to make sure he understood everything.
'So that's what happened...the Knights of Walpurgis are the old followers of Tom Riddle, and they are still out there. No wonder Dumbledore had to hurry up to leave Hogwarts. He must have spent years looking for those few remaining members.'
But as he thought about this, something began to bother him.
His secret benefactor, the one who left those messages for him and the cloak of invisibility, had known about this attack a month prior.
This could only mean that this individual was also a member of that order, or at least, someone with a close connection to them.
So, it couldn't be a coincidence that he ended up encountering Tom Riddle down in that secret dungeon.
'Was I being used to help free their Dark Lord?' He recalled that his blood had played an important role in opening the door to the chamber where Tom Riddle was being held.
Whoever sent him the cloak of invisibility, the silver key, and those notes must have known a lot about the forbidden chamber in the third-floor corridor.
The note even left him a clue about using his blood to open the way.
Harry frowned. He did not like the idea of being used as a tool, but everything seemed to indicate that it was exactly what happened.
'Still...if it wasn't for their help, I could never have freed Parkinson's spirit from his prison. As well as those other poor students.' Harry thought.
This was at least a silver lining for him. Even if someone was using him for their own goals, Harry was still benefiting from it.
'Thought I was the one to take all the risk...' He told himself.
He was also surprised that followers of the Dark Lord were still out there...still fighting against Dumbledore and his Ministry of Magic.
The war was not over...so the Headmaster had not won just yet.
Harry wondered if that old saying, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," would apply in this case.
Are the Knights of Walpurgis and Tom Riddle his friends?...or just a different kind of enemy?.
He was far from being a powerful wizard like Dumbledore or Riddle and could hardly afford to have too many enemies like those, so he hoped that was not the case.
"So the rebels are back," Draco muttered as he folded the newspaper. "That's… not good."
"Maybe it is," Harry said quietly.
Draco looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Harry hesitated. He could not tell Draco about what he had learned, at least not yet, and definitely not here. "I just mean that...maybe the Ministry needs to be challenged. That someone should stand against them."
"Shh, lower your voice." Crabbe shook his shoulder. "You can't say that in here."
Harry went silent. He knew his friend was right. Speaking against the Ministry of Magic could get you into a lot of trouble.
"Right..."
Draco stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head. " You are starting to sound like my father, Harry. He used to say things like that, but...not anymore."
Harry said nothing. He had heard enough about Lucius Malfoy to know that the man had once been a supporter of the Dark Lord, before he was forced to fall in line with Dumbledore's regime to protect his family and avoid suffering the same fate as the Parkinsons, the Goyles, and many other wizard families.
'If Tom Riddle is alive,' Harry thought, 'if he's free… what will happen to people like Lucius Malfoy? Will they join him again?'
He pushed the thought aside.
The conversation around the Slytherin table had shifted to the other major event of the night: the fire in the forbidden corridor.
"I heard it was a student," a fifth‑year girl said in a low voice. "Someone snuck into the third floor and set the whole place on fire."
"Didn't you know?. That door was sealed by the Headmaster. No way a student could open it." Another one added.
"Well, I heard it was one of those rebels."
"Don't be stupid. The rebels attacked the Ministry, not Hogwarts."
"It could be both."
Harry listened to their conversation but kept his head down, choosing to make no comments on the topic. The less he said, the better.
But even if he was trying to pass unnoticed...as breakfast wound down, he began to feel the weight of a pair of eyes on him.
When he looked up, he spotted Professor Snape, standing near the staff table.
Harry had missed the moment when the potions professor had returned to the hall, but he was here now, and it didn't seem like he came for the food.
His dark gaze was fixed on him. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but it was more than enough to make him nervous.
Harry looked away, avoiding gazing directly into his eyes, in case the man could see something he wasn't supposed to.
This may seem a bit suspicious...though it was better than the alternative.
Snape did not move from the spot. He did not approach, nor did he say anything to Harry. But the message seemed clear...he was suspicious, and he would be watching him.
Harry's stomach tightened. He forced himself to finish his meal, though he could barely taste anything.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Harry went to his classes, took notes, and answered questions when called upon.
He kept his head down, his face blank, his voice steady. He did not give anyone a reason to suspect him.
But the feeling of being surveyed would not go away. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see Dumbledore's robes billowing around the corner, expecting to be summoned to the Headmaster's office.
The summons never came.
Harry's absence from meetings with Dumbledore, after months of weekly sessions, was noticeable.
He had grown accustomed to the routine of sitting in the Headmaster's office, answering questions, trying to keep his secrets hidden while the old man's eyes seemed to see right through him.
But now, there was nothing.
<><><><><><><><><><>
That night, Harry sat in his four-poster bed with his curtains drawn, his diary open in his lap.
The common room was quiet after Draco and Crabbe had gone to sleep.
His last roommate, Zabini, always kept to himself and would rarely speak with him, unless it was something school-related.
These were the only moments when Harry allowed himself to relax a little and share his deepest thoughts with his diary, as it was the only way he had to vent his feelings.
"An entire day has passed since...Dumbledore has returned to Hogwarts, but he hasn't called for me. I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one. Maybe he doesn't suspect me. Maybe he's too busy trying to salvage what's left of his laboratory. Or maybe he's biding his time."
"Snape looked at me strangely this morning. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. He knows something. I can feel it."
"I think my secret benefactor has been using me..."
I dont know if this was the outcome they had been looking for, or if they wanted something else. Their intentions were never made clear to me...and that worries me."
"I am always surrounded by people, and yet, I feel so alone in this world. I can only share things with pages of this diary, as this is the only place that feels safe enough."
Harry paused and took a moment to think.
"Eight more days. Eight more days until I can leave this place. Eight more days until I can go home. I can't wait to see my family and stop worrying about countless eyes watching my every move."
Harry closed the diary and hid it in its secret spot, under the loose wooden tile beneath his bed, right next to the cloak of invisibility.
Then...he took something from the drawer of his nightstand and held it in his hand. It was a small toy soldier...a green plastic paratrooper with a painted-on parachute and a tiny rifle.
Duddley had given this toy figure on his last day at home.
Harry had always kept it nearby, along with the silver wristwatch that his uncle Vernon gave him.
These were very important items, because they were given by people who cared for him.
His family.
Harry lay back on his bed and stared at the canopy above him.
'Eight more days,' he thought. 'Just eight more days.'
He slept better that night.
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